On the way to London, Frances told us briefly the story of the day.  She had started to her father’s house and had left the river at Baynard’s Castle stairs.  It was near one o’clock when she left her boat, and the snow, which had been falling for an hour or more, covered the ground.  When she reached the head of the narrow street leading to Upper Thames Street from the river stairs, she found a coach waiting for her.  The driver touched his hat and asked if she was Mistress Jennings.  When she answered that she was, he said I had sent him to watch for her and to take her to Sir Richard’s house, the snow being deep and the storm violent.  My name and Sir Richard’s fell so glibly from the fellow’s tongue that she, suspecting nothing, entered the coach.  Within three or four minutes the coach stopped, but she thought nothing of it, supposing the way was blocked.

While waiting, two men wrapped to their eyes in greatcoats came up, one on either side of the coach, entered, threw a cloak over her head, and bound her hand and foot.  Immediately the coach started, but presently it stopped again, and Frances had an opportunity to speak to the girl who had come to see Betty.  Fortunately a buttonhole in the cloak which the men had thrown over Frances’s head happened to fall over one of her eyes, and thus enabled her to see the girl.

* * * * *

When our pursuers turned back, we reduced our speed, so that the journey might be easier for Betty, who had moaned at every jolt, and when the coach went smoother she fell asleep.

After we had all been silent for a long time, Frances said:—­

“I have been thinking it all over, cousin Ned, and if Master Hamilton, that is, George, wishes it, I will go with him, regardless of consequences.  I am tired of the fight.”

“What?” I cried, startled almost to anger.

“Do not run me through, Ned,” cried Hamilton.  “This is the first intimation I have had of her purpose, and to save myself from slaughter at your hands, I hasten to say that I will not accept her sacrifice.  It were kinder in me to kill her than to marry her.”

We all laughed to cover our embarrassment, and George said ruefully:  “The king, I fear, will settle the question without consulting us.  De Grammont tells me that his Majesty believes I am in London and that he is eager to give a public entertainment on Tyburn Hill, wherein I shall be the principal actor.  Now our beloved monarch’s hatred will be redoubled, for he will suspect that I helped in the rescue to-night.”

“Do you suspect him of being privy to the outrage tonight?” asked Frances.

“I know it.  There is no villainy he would not do, provided it required no bravery,” said George.

“But we must not let the king know that we suspect him,” I suggested.  “He may be innocent of the crime.  I shall know the truth before to-morrow night.”

“Did you see him at Merlin House?” asked George, turning to Frances.